Well, this is a freak of a chapter, darlings. Beware the horror!
Poor you Maja! This one's dedicated to you cause you gave me the most uplifting review just when I was feeling pretty bad. colds in Scotland are never fun. Ta monkey! (- I got dubbed the queen of . "Dedicating Stuff to People" Queen, by a friend =P you can tell how articulate she is.)
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Nightmares in Vain
@*@*@*@*@
There was one porthole on the ship where he was being held; it was the only light source, which meant that it was almost pitch-black by night or in the times of storm. By this light he could see two tattered youths in the cell opposite, they rarely spoke or shifted at all. The two boys could only be in their teen years; one slightly shorter than Jack with short straw-blonde hair who had a nasty gash over his left eye, which was sealed shut; the other had long chestnut hair, the waves of which reminded him of Bootstrap's offspring, but there, the similarities ended, he had a broad nose, with coarse features and looked out from behind vacant blue eyes framed by scars and bruises the color of wine. Jack never had any interest in asking why they were there, but they seemed interested in him. He would catch them watching him when he woke up, one of them would start as if to speak, but think better of it and draw their eyes away. Their wishes to make contact with him would always vanish when the bounty hunters would come, whether carrying their food, (at least ^they^ were fed) or various "toys", which had an appointment with the flesh of Captain Jack Sparrow.
He knew it was no dream - it was a memory, one that he could not repress or ignore. He knew that it was William Turner's fault that he had woken, in his dream, to find himself once more aboard the Silver Viper, on the first day of his true torture. He could not wake himself, or control what was to happen - twist the past into something more bearable, he would have to live it again, every moment of excruciating agony.
((
He estimated that he had been in his dank, leaking cell for about seventeen days; it was a realistic guess, as he could never tell where the sun was behind the dark, threatening storm clouds, sometimes he could not see at all for the lack of consciousness and time tends to go so slowly when being beaten and starved. Usually the wood of the boat would provide some comfort or some atmosphere that did not seem so grim, but here that wood was soaked through and gave off a smothering air of damp. His body was wracked with pain - his shirt was stuck to the dried blood on his back, but only hung loosely over his chest, he had not the energy to fasten it against the freeze of the sea air. Crimson droplets still slid slowly down him tracing where the whip had been and where glass particles still lingered. He lifted his head slowly, to see whether he should remain unconscious for another few hours, but it was too late to put his head back on his up-drawn knees. Three familiar shapes shifted about the lower deck, mopping or just standing there. One of them noticed his conscious presence and looked up from his work - he smiled, set the mop down and threw the bucket of water- turned-slop over him.
" You're making a sty of our cell Sparrow." His eyes were malicious slits as he referred to the bloodied floor.
" You made a mess of my back. Fair dues, eh? " Jack stood up defiantly. The men were tall and overly muscled from years at sea, dreaming of such a catch as the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, but their "catch" refused to seem as if he were cowering or smaller then them.
"Oh Mr.-"
"Captain."
"Mr. Sparrow," he continued, " we had such intentions to feed you today but if your mouth can spew such words then your belly'll go hungry for some days yet."
" Now, now Klepper. We can't have the captain starving to death can we? There are for more civilized ways of disciplining our little bar or gold." He smiled venomously.
They began unlocking Jack's cell. He didn't put up a fight or beg for mercy, he walked tall, scowling and proud - he still knew how to be Jack Sparrow, but the legend was slipping.
They pulled him into a small room, which, in different circumstances, would have looked quite cozy. A small stove burned in the far corner behind a group of chairs and a small table, but to Jack, the flames licked their metal exterior, hungrily awaiting his skin. The chairs beckoned him as they sat ready to bear witness. It was a matter of moments before he found himself being held down to the chair, his wrists bleeding profusely as the irons and ropes were removed. The one he took to be the captain took the seat opposite and pulled one un-cuffed hand forward and flattened it out on the table, drawing a large iron bar from the fire. Jack's eyes widened.
"Matches that hot tongue of yours wouldn't you say Sparrow?" he laughed mockingly, waiting for a response.
Jack said nothing. He just looked at the skin of the back of his hand for what he knew to be the last time - every mark and freckle amplified then turned sunset red by the light of the brand.
He felt the hands on his shoulders tense to keep him in his place, but he wasn't going anywhere. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of writhing - but it was easier said than done as the hellish heat come closer.
He held fast, arching his back against the pain as the tender flesh scorched and boiled, hissing in resistance.
" Say the word Jack. We'll stop," he snarled, "seems a lot of pain to go through just to be stubborn.hmm?" He pressed down harder, " or do you enjoy the smell of your own cooking flesh. Did you save that hide of yours time and time again just to have it sizzle away? One word Sparrow and it all ends."
Through the nauseating smell and the hiss of the steam as it cooled, all Jack seemed to be able to think about, besides the pain, was how much that man liked to talk. Sound was catching in his throat, he wanted to scream and tear the limbs from ever man in the room. He looked up at his torturer, smiling a wry smile, composing himself completely before he could speak.
" May as well give the worms a cooked meal."
The brand was removed, its glow had vanished somewhere in between moments and the tormented flesh was revealed to the cold air. The bounty hunter still brandished the iron, looking down at his work in disgust.
" For Christ's sake "Captain", not even I can stand the sight of that," he winced in genuine horror, throwing Jack's glove at him, " cover it. And since you don't seem to mind having the heat of hell on you. we'll resolve this little conflict between Klepper and yourself later." He stormed out of the room, enraged at his failed attempt to break the smaller man, leaving the others to chain Jack and lead him back to his cage.
They made their exit without taunting him in some bizarre mark of unspoken respect - there was little to be said anyway. As soon as they were nowhere to be seen, he crumpled to his knees, struggling to take the leather glove from his hand as it now caused it to itch and perspire. He put it in the bucket of dubious looking water then sat, cradling it near his chest. The two youths were gazing at him through the bars of their prison - confused and half terrified. Jack let out a deep, rumbling laugh as he realized how strange his actions would seem out of context. He lifted the injured hand to explain - he was out of words and out of energy. He didn't see their horrified faces, as he then collapsed into restless sleep.
He woke later that night, to the clattering of keys and the sound of voices begging for mercy. The voices, he deduced, belonged to the two boys who had not yet learned that "mercy" was a fantasy on the seas. He turned his head to see the straw-haired holding tight to his comrade's hand, trying to anchor him within the cell. The chestnut waves of the other boy were whipping frantically in front of his face as he heaved against the power of his the charming Mr. Klepper.
"Must we have this little scrap ^every^ time you're wanted? Surely you would show ^some^ thanks for your lives, eh?"
They were fighting a losing battle, and as Captain Sparrow came to realize exactly what they were fighting to prevent he replaced the glove and stood up, hanging his arms limply through the bars.
"That's your game is it?" The taller man turned in shock, as did the children. "Really, I might be able to understand all that strange and remarkably unusual torture you saw fit to take a feared pirate with - but it takes a special breed of scum to fall to this kind of thing."
The jailer smirked as he took the boy's jaw in his hand, "Yes, they were a lot prettier when we got them."
"Bastard."
"That's rich coming from the captain of the Pearl - well, what used to be." he was inspecting their faces with disgust, "Volunteering to replace them? If you're so apposed to it Sparrow, it's easily arranged. You are exceptionally pretty." He grinned, locking the other cell as two more bounty hunters thumped down the stairs. Klepper, with a sharp gesture of his head, signaled for Jack to be taken from his cell. They did so without a word, each taking the crook of one bound arm and lifting him only just high enough that his boots only scuffed the floor. His eyes were cast to the wooden deck, he didn't see the look of thanks and something of admiration with which the boys regarded him, but the last words he heard from them were a low and grateful 'thank you'.
*@*@*@*
Before the dawns light could reach the waves on the still-dark sea, he was returned to that jail carried by one man alone who dumped him unceremoniously on the floor and stalked away. Jack could feel the newly made rapier score on his shoulder, still gushing blood, and the words that came with it mumbled in his ears: 'one for the first time Sparrow. And here's to many more'. He didn't bother moving - only made a vain attempt to make out the shadows of the two he was supposed to have spared from the torture.
It didn't help them - didn't save them.
.They were still slit from ear to ear anyway..
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This was meant to be the short dream = long Jack and Will time chapter. But I DO tend to ramble on a bit.
So, sorry...
I do hope you enjoyed it on some level. Happier times ahead! But I think I'm doing okayish. maybe. on the updating front, so I don't think the next chapter shouldn't be too long coming. And its gunna be eventful!! - -[the happy times I speak of!! Sooner then u thought, eh?]
Don't give up hope my little monkeys!
Viva la revolution!
Crimson. ^^
Poor you Maja! This one's dedicated to you cause you gave me the most uplifting review just when I was feeling pretty bad. colds in Scotland are never fun. Ta monkey! (- I got dubbed the queen of . "Dedicating Stuff to People" Queen, by a friend =P you can tell how articulate she is.)
(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)
Nightmares in Vain
@*@*@*@*@
There was one porthole on the ship where he was being held; it was the only light source, which meant that it was almost pitch-black by night or in the times of storm. By this light he could see two tattered youths in the cell opposite, they rarely spoke or shifted at all. The two boys could only be in their teen years; one slightly shorter than Jack with short straw-blonde hair who had a nasty gash over his left eye, which was sealed shut; the other had long chestnut hair, the waves of which reminded him of Bootstrap's offspring, but there, the similarities ended, he had a broad nose, with coarse features and looked out from behind vacant blue eyes framed by scars and bruises the color of wine. Jack never had any interest in asking why they were there, but they seemed interested in him. He would catch them watching him when he woke up, one of them would start as if to speak, but think better of it and draw their eyes away. Their wishes to make contact with him would always vanish when the bounty hunters would come, whether carrying their food, (at least ^they^ were fed) or various "toys", which had an appointment with the flesh of Captain Jack Sparrow.
He knew it was no dream - it was a memory, one that he could not repress or ignore. He knew that it was William Turner's fault that he had woken, in his dream, to find himself once more aboard the Silver Viper, on the first day of his true torture. He could not wake himself, or control what was to happen - twist the past into something more bearable, he would have to live it again, every moment of excruciating agony.
((
He estimated that he had been in his dank, leaking cell for about seventeen days; it was a realistic guess, as he could never tell where the sun was behind the dark, threatening storm clouds, sometimes he could not see at all for the lack of consciousness and time tends to go so slowly when being beaten and starved. Usually the wood of the boat would provide some comfort or some atmosphere that did not seem so grim, but here that wood was soaked through and gave off a smothering air of damp. His body was wracked with pain - his shirt was stuck to the dried blood on his back, but only hung loosely over his chest, he had not the energy to fasten it against the freeze of the sea air. Crimson droplets still slid slowly down him tracing where the whip had been and where glass particles still lingered. He lifted his head slowly, to see whether he should remain unconscious for another few hours, but it was too late to put his head back on his up-drawn knees. Three familiar shapes shifted about the lower deck, mopping or just standing there. One of them noticed his conscious presence and looked up from his work - he smiled, set the mop down and threw the bucket of water- turned-slop over him.
" You're making a sty of our cell Sparrow." His eyes were malicious slits as he referred to the bloodied floor.
" You made a mess of my back. Fair dues, eh? " Jack stood up defiantly. The men were tall and overly muscled from years at sea, dreaming of such a catch as the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, but their "catch" refused to seem as if he were cowering or smaller then them.
"Oh Mr.-"
"Captain."
"Mr. Sparrow," he continued, " we had such intentions to feed you today but if your mouth can spew such words then your belly'll go hungry for some days yet."
" Now, now Klepper. We can't have the captain starving to death can we? There are for more civilized ways of disciplining our little bar or gold." He smiled venomously.
They began unlocking Jack's cell. He didn't put up a fight or beg for mercy, he walked tall, scowling and proud - he still knew how to be Jack Sparrow, but the legend was slipping.
They pulled him into a small room, which, in different circumstances, would have looked quite cozy. A small stove burned in the far corner behind a group of chairs and a small table, but to Jack, the flames licked their metal exterior, hungrily awaiting his skin. The chairs beckoned him as they sat ready to bear witness. It was a matter of moments before he found himself being held down to the chair, his wrists bleeding profusely as the irons and ropes were removed. The one he took to be the captain took the seat opposite and pulled one un-cuffed hand forward and flattened it out on the table, drawing a large iron bar from the fire. Jack's eyes widened.
"Matches that hot tongue of yours wouldn't you say Sparrow?" he laughed mockingly, waiting for a response.
Jack said nothing. He just looked at the skin of the back of his hand for what he knew to be the last time - every mark and freckle amplified then turned sunset red by the light of the brand.
He felt the hands on his shoulders tense to keep him in his place, but he wasn't going anywhere. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of writhing - but it was easier said than done as the hellish heat come closer.
He held fast, arching his back against the pain as the tender flesh scorched and boiled, hissing in resistance.
" Say the word Jack. We'll stop," he snarled, "seems a lot of pain to go through just to be stubborn.hmm?" He pressed down harder, " or do you enjoy the smell of your own cooking flesh. Did you save that hide of yours time and time again just to have it sizzle away? One word Sparrow and it all ends."
Through the nauseating smell and the hiss of the steam as it cooled, all Jack seemed to be able to think about, besides the pain, was how much that man liked to talk. Sound was catching in his throat, he wanted to scream and tear the limbs from ever man in the room. He looked up at his torturer, smiling a wry smile, composing himself completely before he could speak.
" May as well give the worms a cooked meal."
The brand was removed, its glow had vanished somewhere in between moments and the tormented flesh was revealed to the cold air. The bounty hunter still brandished the iron, looking down at his work in disgust.
" For Christ's sake "Captain", not even I can stand the sight of that," he winced in genuine horror, throwing Jack's glove at him, " cover it. And since you don't seem to mind having the heat of hell on you. we'll resolve this little conflict between Klepper and yourself later." He stormed out of the room, enraged at his failed attempt to break the smaller man, leaving the others to chain Jack and lead him back to his cage.
They made their exit without taunting him in some bizarre mark of unspoken respect - there was little to be said anyway. As soon as they were nowhere to be seen, he crumpled to his knees, struggling to take the leather glove from his hand as it now caused it to itch and perspire. He put it in the bucket of dubious looking water then sat, cradling it near his chest. The two youths were gazing at him through the bars of their prison - confused and half terrified. Jack let out a deep, rumbling laugh as he realized how strange his actions would seem out of context. He lifted the injured hand to explain - he was out of words and out of energy. He didn't see their horrified faces, as he then collapsed into restless sleep.
He woke later that night, to the clattering of keys and the sound of voices begging for mercy. The voices, he deduced, belonged to the two boys who had not yet learned that "mercy" was a fantasy on the seas. He turned his head to see the straw-haired holding tight to his comrade's hand, trying to anchor him within the cell. The chestnut waves of the other boy were whipping frantically in front of his face as he heaved against the power of his the charming Mr. Klepper.
"Must we have this little scrap ^every^ time you're wanted? Surely you would show ^some^ thanks for your lives, eh?"
They were fighting a losing battle, and as Captain Sparrow came to realize exactly what they were fighting to prevent he replaced the glove and stood up, hanging his arms limply through the bars.
"That's your game is it?" The taller man turned in shock, as did the children. "Really, I might be able to understand all that strange and remarkably unusual torture you saw fit to take a feared pirate with - but it takes a special breed of scum to fall to this kind of thing."
The jailer smirked as he took the boy's jaw in his hand, "Yes, they were a lot prettier when we got them."
"Bastard."
"That's rich coming from the captain of the Pearl - well, what used to be." he was inspecting their faces with disgust, "Volunteering to replace them? If you're so apposed to it Sparrow, it's easily arranged. You are exceptionally pretty." He grinned, locking the other cell as two more bounty hunters thumped down the stairs. Klepper, with a sharp gesture of his head, signaled for Jack to be taken from his cell. They did so without a word, each taking the crook of one bound arm and lifting him only just high enough that his boots only scuffed the floor. His eyes were cast to the wooden deck, he didn't see the look of thanks and something of admiration with which the boys regarded him, but the last words he heard from them were a low and grateful 'thank you'.
*@*@*@*
Before the dawns light could reach the waves on the still-dark sea, he was returned to that jail carried by one man alone who dumped him unceremoniously on the floor and stalked away. Jack could feel the newly made rapier score on his shoulder, still gushing blood, and the words that came with it mumbled in his ears: 'one for the first time Sparrow. And here's to many more'. He didn't bother moving - only made a vain attempt to make out the shadows of the two he was supposed to have spared from the torture.
It didn't help them - didn't save them.
.They were still slit from ear to ear anyway..
(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)*(*)
This was meant to be the short dream = long Jack and Will time chapter. But I DO tend to ramble on a bit.
So, sorry...
I do hope you enjoyed it on some level. Happier times ahead! But I think I'm doing okayish. maybe. on the updating front, so I don't think the next chapter shouldn't be too long coming. And its gunna be eventful!! - -[the happy times I speak of!! Sooner then u thought, eh?]
Don't give up hope my little monkeys!
Viva la revolution!
Crimson. ^^